


An Angel and a Demon Walk Into a Bar

by TheRealAndian



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale & Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale realizing that he has feelings for Crowley, Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Flustered Aziraphale (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, and Crowley knowing all along, don't mess with Crowley's husband, tickety boo i'm trash for these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealAndian/pseuds/TheRealAndian
Summary: Crowley is enjoying a drink when Aziraphale walks in. Good thing no one else heard the guy that Crowley punched.





	An Angel and a Demon Walk Into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fairly short fic just for these two being absolute dorks. I love them.

Crowley was messing with someone’s pool game in the bar when the angel found him. Not that he minded all that much. They tended to run across each other every so often, and it’d been a couple years since the last time he’d seen that perky little face, so full of gentle kindness that he wasn’t quite sure how to properly handle it.

Sure, he’d been the one to start messing with Aziraphale, but after six millennia, one would think they’d stop running into each other so often. He supposed it might have been some game played by the Almighty. After all, why else would an angel and a demon--the _same_ angel and demon--constantly find each other in such a wide world?

“Fancy seeing _you_ here, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled, shuffling over in his own awkward sort of way. “May I sit?”

Crowley shot him a look, peeking his yellow, snake-like eyes just over his newest set of shades. He wasn’t sure how much he liked them, just yet, but he’d won them in a bet, so he’d be blessed if he wasn’t going to wear them like the smarmy show-off he was. “Free country,” he replied, turning his attention back to the pool table. The guy he’d been giving all sorts of misfortune had snapped his pool cue and was about to punch someone.

Aziraphale took a seat, completely oblivious to the soon-to-be bar fight. “It’s been a bit, hasn’t it? How have you been?”

The demon, to his credit, withdrew his influence from the humans to focus on the conversation. He rather did enjoy these small moments with the angel he saw as a peculiar sort of friend. The humans, of course, didn’t settle down, and there was soon fists flying between them. “Pretty well for being damned,” he murmured, swirling his drink of the night in its glass. “America’s a bit of an interesting place. So much underlying tension. It’s a wonder any of them get on at all.”

“I do suppose you have a point,” Aziraphale agreed, watching the fight with a sad little look of disappointment. “I’m supposed to be influencing a young preacher around here, but I thought I’d have a look around before I went over to him.”

Crowley smirked. “Funny, that. I’m supposed to influencing a governor or something. He really doesn’t need it.”

“No?”

“He’s enough of an asshole already,” the demon shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll do some terrible things in the name of justice, with or without my help.”

“So you’re not going to bother.”

“Nope.”

Aziraphale stared at one of the men, and he collapsed into a pile of his own drool, very drunk, and very asleep. “I see.”

“Ruin my fun, why don’t you,” Crowley sneered, more mocking than actually caring. This was just how they did things, after all. Yin to the Yang, or something like that.

The angel pouted at him all the same. “I don’t see why you bother making humans fight each other. It only gets people hurt.”

Draining the rest of his drink, he said “It’s entertaining.”

“How so?” Aziraphale exclaimed. He placed one of his hands on top of one of Crowley’s, which definitely didn’t bring any sort of red flush to his face. “They’re fragile, you know! Both in body _and_ spirit!”

A loud _thunk_ startled both of them, giving Crowley the out he needed to jerk his hand out from under Aziraphale’s. A large beer mug had been slammed down on their table by some big fellow with a balding head and a stained gray shirt. Crowley peered at the newcomer with mild curiosity. What sort of stupid thing was this human going to do?

“You’re kind aren’t allowed in here,” the man spat. His breath smelled of liquor and tobacco, and the rest of him smelled of unwashed flesh and piss. It was almost enough to give the demon a headache.

Aziraphale’s face paled a bit, either from the stench, or the comment. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked. His voice was level, but there was an edge of nervousness that gave Crowley an urge to get between his friend and the human. He beat that thought out of his mind immediately, though; Aziraphale was perfectly capable of defending himself. Except during the French Revolution, apparently. Or that time in World War II. Or...really _any_ time, if he was being completely honest. Which he wasn’t. He _was_ a demon, after all.

“Think you’re sssso subtle,” the man slurred. He’d clearly already downed a beer or two before trying to mess with them. “Holdin’ haands ‘n’ talkin’ all quiet.”

Aziraphale retracted his hand from the table and placed it in his lap. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” he said curtly, “but I do not like your tone. If you’d prefer we left, you don’t have to be so rude about it.”

And that’s when all Hell--or Heaven, if you preferred--broke loose.

The man grabbed Aziraphale by the collar of his lovely old jacket, crumpling his bowtie in his fist. Then he clutched his beer mug like he was about to beat the angel over the head with it.

Crowley wasn’t about to let _that_ happen. He’d deny it later, but at that moment, he knew deep in his black heart that he was going to have to save this dumb angel once again.

Under normal circumstances, he would’ve snapped his fingers and made something terrible happen to the man. Perhaps he would pass out drunk if he was lucky. Maybe hit his head on the way down for good measure. If he was rather _un_ lucky, then he would maybe have a heart attack or some other organ failure.

However, these were not normal circumstances, and Crowley didn’t even hesitate to think.

His fist connected with the man’s face before he could consider the consequences. He was surprisingly solid, but Crowley wasn’t exactly human, so it definitely hurt a bit more than being punched by a normal man with his build. And as he watched the man drop like a sack of bricks in a river, he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was proud. It left quite a nice mark on the man’s face. Even cracked the skin a bit.

Aziraphale tumbled to the ground, quickly picking himself up and dusting off before looking around. The entire bar had gone silent. No one spoke. No one attacked. Everyone just stood and stared.

The pair glanced at each other. Crowley hoped that his expression was enough to tell Aziraphale to deal with it. After all, it’d take quite the miracle to get them out of this one, and it had all been his fault anyways. He owed them this one.

He really hoped he caught that.

Fortunately, the angel wasn’t nearly as thick as he acted, sometimes. And sure enough, the bar patrons turned back to their drinks and games, ignoring what’d just happened. The drunken man on the floor moaned in pain, but even Aziraphale, with all his gentle kindness, didn’t bother to help him. Instead, he and Crowley vacated the establishment as quickly as possible.

“I don’t see what all the fuss was about,” Aziraphale whined, wringing his hands. “I barely touched you.”

Crowley waved his hand dismissively. “Humans. They’re fickle. One minute, they think it’s fine for two men to hold hands, and the next, they think it’s an abomination.”

“But we’re not even men!”

“They don’t know that,” Crowley shrugged. “Besides, we look enough like men to them. Unless one of us wants to actively change their appearance, then we’re going to just have to deal with the possibility of that sort of thing happening.”

“Ridiculous.”

They meandered along a busy street, going almost unnoticed, save for the occasional glance at Crowley’s unnaturally flame-red hair. He let it roll off him like water off a duck; he’d been dealing with that for millennia. Aziraphale, however, shuffled along quietly. It was strange not hearing him babble on and on about a book or something. “What’s wrong, Angel?” Crowley finally asked.

“I...I don’t know. I just can’t quite grasp what that man was insinuating back there. Or perhaps I'm just afraid to...”

“He thought we were a couple,” the demon answered as nonchalantly as he could manage. The words still tried to catch in his throat, though.

The angel stopped walking. His face turned deathly pale, and Crowley was almost certain the poor guy was about to swoon. “A c-couple!?”

Crowley did a 180 and leaned on a wall, staring at his friend from behind the safety of his glasses. Even he had to admit that their relationship probably went beyond regular friendship. At least, they did in _his_ sinful eyes. He’d often stopped himself from going out of his way to meet the angel on more than one occasion. The 14th century had been particularly painful, seeing as the Black Death was everywhere, and the two of them couldn’t exactly waltz around like they usually did.

But to Aziraphale, it probably wasn’t like that. To him, it was likely more about trying to keep Crowley from getting into too much trouble. There may have been some semblance of sentiment, but Crowley figured it was mostly a general love of all things. Including demons, apparently.

Either way, they were probably about as close as they could be without actually being a couple. Crowley had assumed Aziraphale knew that, too. Judging by the look on his face, that may not have been the case. In which case, he might need to go back and reevaluate the past few millennia.

The angel’s face had turned bright red--redder than the Great Beast, himself. He was starting to sweat, and he was fumbling for words that just couldn’t make themselves coherent.

What Crowley wouldn’t give just to know exactly what was running through his mind right then.

“Oh dear Almighty,” Aziraphale whispered. “We _do_ act like a couple, don’t we?”

Crowley laughed. “Sure do. We’ve known each other so long, we both know exactly what the other’s going to do before he even bothers.”

Flustered, Aziraphale dabbed at his face with a handkerchief that appeared from nowhere. “I really hadn’t thought about it that way. After the Greeks and Romans, I always forget that the way people show concern and care changed quite a bit.”

“Could’ve gone worse, really. Could’ve happened in front of one of our parties.”

The angel all but shut down. “Oh dear, that would be dreadful,” he murmured. “Perhaps it’s best if we just stop seeing each other altogether, if that’s really a danger.”

Crowley threw his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and jostled him a bit. He was a bit more solid underneath than he expected. It almost felt a bit _too_ natural for his liking, but he’d already done it, so he was going to have to roll with it. “Nahhhhh,” he teased, rocking the beet red angel to and fro. “You’re stuck with me, Angel. ‘Til the end of times, and after that? Who knows?”

Aziraphale moved stiffly, clearly unsure how to respond. He’d warm up one of these days. He’d probably put this whole day aside and try to repress it, if Crowley knew him at all. Which, of course, he did quite well, the lovable little dork. 

Pushing him around just once more, Crowley released him and blew him the most sarcastic kiss he possibly could. It probably didn’t come off as sarcastic as he wanted, though. “Now, if you don’t mind, Angel, I’ve got a governor to tempt. Have fun dawdling about.”

He walked away swiftly, but not without glancing back at Aziraphale at least once.


End file.
